


Wanted: A Lawless Christmas

by QuillerQueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Heroes and Villains Universe (Once Upon a Time), Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, OQ Advent 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27958715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillerQueen/pseuds/QuillerQueen
Summary: Robin Hood and the bandit Regina have danced around each other for years. They’ve competed in the art of heists, traded snarky notes, exchanged tentative gifts. It takes a blizzard for the two to finally meet.(The events of Operation Mongoose never happened in this story; the verse simply exists without Isaac's meddling.)
Relationships: Bandit OQ - Relationship, Bandit Outlaw - Relationship, Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood, Outlaw Queen
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37





	Wanted: A Lawless Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays, fellow OQers! What a strange, tough year it's been. I hope this little journey into a tempestuous Enchanted Forest brings you joy. Good tidings to you and yours!

It’s been in the air all day.

Each breath comes crisp and brittle, sharp as fresh mint or hot spices. Dawn’s stillness birthed morning’s breeze; the breeze grew into a gale that blew in steely clouds. By noon dusk seems to have descended on the forest.

Every forest-dweller knows: rabbits race into their burrows; squirrels scurry up the tallest trees; deer huddle by feeders, sniffing the air.

Regina, too, knows the signs well.

And yet the first snowflake catches her unprepared.

It catches her perched on the branch of an ancient oak. Only when it lands on the tip of her nose, cold and wet, does Regina look up from the road below. The royal tax carriage is yet to emerge from around the bend beyond the trees—and soon it becomes clear it no longer will.

Because the lone snowflake is the harbinger of more. The first dozen dance gracefully on the wind. More follow, descending like a thick curtain upon the forest. Fat and fluffy, they pour from the dark sky so eagerly the white dusting grows into a solid carpet before Regina’s very eyes.

_Fuck._

Her carefully planned robbery is over before it began, her quest for freedom foiled by the caprices of weather.

And to make matters worse, it is now too late to hunt for dinner. The deer will have bedded down, the small game gone into hiding. Only humans are foolish enough to challenge Nature in what is always, ultimately, a losing battle.

_Gotta move._

Regina lowers herself from the branch and lands ankle-deep in snow. It’s coming down fast, hindering her view, but she knows the way. Her home will be snowed in by the time she reaches it, she’ll have to dig her way through the entrance, but it will be dry and still, a peaceful haven amid a raging blizzard.

If she can reach it at all.

She sets off at a run towards the river, but she’s not racing so much as bracing against the ever more forceful blasts of wind. It’s lashing her cheeks, cold and icy, throwing sheets of frozen snow at her. Breasting the calamity, she reaches the roaring waters and continues blindly across—no point trying to locate the stepstones under the snow, she couldn’t possibly keep her footing on the slippery rocks. Her boots leak at once. Water rushes in—a thousand pins pricking her skin and setting it on fire even as the air turns to ice in her chest.

At this rate she’s going to freeze to death before she ever makes it home.

_The cave._

It’s close enough. She’d be safe there for the night. The approach is perilous even at its best, but it’s her only choice.

Regina clambers and crawls, she climbs up the slope and starts up the granite rock face. She slips and scrabbles for purchase, numb now to pain, forcing her muscles to move, her fingers and feet to obey. At long last, she finds it.

The wind howls through the crevice in the rock, but when she drags herself through, the world stills.

Ice clings to her lashes, her hair, the fur trim of her vest. Her clothes are soaked and frozen solid; her body feels the same. Even her mind is chilled and sluggish. Slipping.

_Need...fire. Fast._

Her teeth chatter uncontrollably, and her entire body is rattled by shivers so violent she’s barely standing. Fog descends around her, mysterious and inexplicable. She puts one foot before the other. She can’t see much beyond colours and shapes blotted black.

_Forward…_

_Must...move…_

Smoke tickles her nose.

Regina follows the warm glow.

Her knees buckle, and everything goes dark.

* * *

It’s quiet.

Quiet and soft. And warm. They wrap around her like a delicate feather duvet, and Regina squirms and sinks deeper into the deliciousness of it. It smells of earth and pine, of forest on a fresh morning.

Is she dead? If so, it’s not half bad. Still, just to check, she tries to flex her fingers and wiggle her toes. They’re brittle, ready to shatter to pieces, and pain shoots through them at the slightest movement. So she stops.

She breathes in, then out.

The fire crackles.

When did she make the fire? Her head hurts, but she racks her brain regardless—there was snow, and ice, and jagged rock. And then, a fire, ready and inviting—made by someone that wasn’t Regina.

_Fuck._

She’s not alone.

Regina jumps to her feet—or she would, only her limbs refuse to obey, so all she can manage is a violent shudder that sends spasms of sharp pain through her. All it takes is this tiny amount of movement for the world to start unravelling—her cosy cocoon comes undone, the absence of its snug embrace leaving her shivering in a thin blanket.

“Hold still, please, milady.”

Some of the warmth returns as something heavy wraps around her shoulders, tickling her nape.

She blinks her eyes open—even her eyelids take convincing, as if they’d been frozen shut. The firelight blinds her at first as it dances on the walls. She’s much closer to the flames than would normally be wise, but Regina revels in the heat, feels her aching body melting, sweat and frost beading on her brow and rolling down her cheeks. She strains her eyes to bring the blurry outlines into focus.

The man shifts so that she can better see him. He’s smiling. A dimpled smile, warm like the fire—though in truth anything would seem warm compared to a blizzard.

There’s something familiar about him, something—

Can it be?

“Robin Hood?” she croaks upon closer scrutiny.

“Why so incredulous?” he grins.

“Just thought you’d be...dirtier.”

Robin Hood chuckles, and damn it, even that is warm. Despite herself, Regina relaxes—tension seeps from her strained muscles, and she settles more comfortably into the blankets.

Not blankets; blanket and...cape?

He’s not wearing his. As a matter of fact, he’s not wearing much at all—trousers and shirt, but no jacket or cape. He must be cold.

She should give him his cape back. And she will. Eventually.

Wait—what is she wearing? Her clothes were drenched...and there they are now, drying on a rock. She’s not nude, is she? She wiggles a bit. Thank goodness, he left her undergarments on. That was decent of him, but—oh god, he really did have to undress her, and what she wouldn’t give for the dark, dank earth to swallow her right this moment.

If Robin Hood notices her mortification, he shows no sign of it.

As a matter of fact, he even goes a step—or several—farther.

“Would it be odd for me to say I’m glad we meet at last?” he asks, a smile tugging at his lips.

“What do you think?” she fires back, gesturing vaguely at, well, everything.

“Right. Shan’t say it, then,” he shrugs, perfectly unfazed. “Now, your hand, please.”

“What?” She looks down at where she’s clutching the blanket. “I’m fine,” she protests automatically. “It’s just a scratch.”

Except it’s not—her palm is sliced open, and now that she’s out of the cold, it’s bleeding profusely, staining Robin Hood’s possessions.

She lets go of them, shivering as the blanket slips lower, and yanks them hastily back up. Damn it, she’ll just buy him a new cape.

“Never mind that,” he dismisses easily as he takes her hand and pours a generous amount of liquor over the gaping wound.

Regina, bracing for the sting and burn, finds the sensation almost comforting—feeling is slowly returning to her, and that’s a good sign. 

“I had the situation under control,” she mutters as Robin produces a strip of cloth, ties and tightens it to cover the cleaned wound.

Even to herself she sounds absurd, but he’s close, and it _does_ things to her. Things that put her on edge. With the return of feeling in her limbs comes a feeling of a different kind, an uncalled-for foolishness she won’t entertain. Perhaps she’s running a fever?

“A simple thank you would suffice,” he returns with the same irritating smugness she knows from his notes. “So what brings you here in the midst of a calamity? Did you also have the audacity to try and outrun the storm?”

“Something like that,” she shrugs. “I was focusing on Snow, not—well, snow.”

Robin Hood gives her a curious look.

“It appears you and the queen have quite the complicated relationship.”

“She wants me dead. Seems pretty simple to me,” she scoffs, with that familiar sinking sensation at the pit of her stomach. 

“And yet every year you come to her gates bearing gifts.”

Regina stares at him, struggling, and almost certainly failing, to hide her shock.

“How do you know about that?”

“I once happened upon you while scoping the place,” he admits carefully.

But he said every year, didn’t he? So he must have gone back at least once to—what? Spy on her?

“What’s your excuse for the other occasions?”

“I’m afraid I’ve none.” He has the decency at least to look contrite. “Apologies—my curiosity took the best of me.”

Well, that’s...something. They are treading on dangerous ground though—and deeply personal at that. Which is why she needs to change the topic.

An opportunity presents itself when Robin Hood moves to retrieve a sooty little pot from the fire and add leaves of some kind.

“Why are you limping?”

“’S nothing. Must’ve pulled something.”

Stubborn man.

“You don’t know that,” she says as he hands her the tea. The flowery scent of linden rises in steaming spirals, and every sip tastes of sunshine. It works like magic—she feels strength slowly returning to her.

Not so Robin Hood’s leg.

“You should at least splint it,” she tells him as she watches him awkwardly refill the pot from his waterskin and set it to boil.

He turns around with an expression she can’t quite fathom.

“So it _was_ you.”

“What was me?”

“The splint on that deer last winter.”

Oh. That. He must think her sentimental, or foolish, or both—it probably was, too.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, staring into her tea to avoid his inexplicably intense gaze. “She’d just had young.” Without her help, they’d have perished. “Now come here.”

“This to a person with a limp,” he teases, but obeys.

Between the two of them, they gather enough material to improvise a splint, salvaging two auspiciously shaped pieces of firewood for the task. Regina’s fingers are clumsy still, but she’s done this enough times that she manages anyway. The injury is on his lower leg, so it’s a two-person job.

“Can you hold here?”

He does, without objection. He hisses when she touches his ankle, winces when she pulls gently on his leg to straighten it, but there’s not a word of complaint.

“May I ask something personal?” he says with a slight pant that betrays he’s in considerable pain even though he won’t say so.

Regina bristles. She thinks she knows what his question will be, and she’s not keen on him asking it. He could use the distraction though as she works, so she’ll take a chance.

“Sure. I just may choose to not answer,” she half jokes, half warns him.

To her surprise, he doesn’t push her about Snow White.

“Word has reached me,” he pauses, then resumes carefully, “about your charitable deeds—”

Regina cuts him off right there.

“You’re the one with the reputation for stealing from the rich to give to the poor, not me.”

“Regina,” he sighs, “people talk. They try not to because that’s all you ask in return, but their grateful whispers carry. You have a place at dozens of tables should you wish to take it. Yet you choose to spend every holiday alone—much like the rest of the year. Why’s that?”

Regina bites her lip. She’s glad she’s still busy attaching the now padded splint to his leg, because this way he can’t see her face as she tries to school her features. Sure, it is a loaded question, but why the fuck must her eyes burn?

“Anyone associated with me becomes a target. Those people have enough trouble already. The Black Guard breathing down their necks is the last thing they need.” She smiles bitterly and picks at the fraying fabric wound around one of the sticks now sitting snugly in place, playing for time before she has to face him again. “Trust me, it’s for the best.”

And who is she trying to convince, really?

“You’re protecting them.” Robin says softly. “And sentencing yourself to a lifetime of solitude.”

She pushes up his pants’ leg to check the pulse—an activity that, conveniently, lends itself well to silence.

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs eventually, her voice a bit rough but steady, “too many people mistake solitude for loneliness.”

“That they do. There can be comfort in solitude,” he lets on. And then: “There’s comfort in company, too.”

“Not worth the risk.”

She forces a smile to show him she’s above it, that she’s fine with this, that she’s chosen this.

There’s no trace of pity in the smile he returns, thankfully—in fact, his eyes twinkle.

“Perhaps the company of someone who’s already on the queen’s wrong side, then?” he winks, and so do his dimples.

Well, this is new.

“And you volunteer, do you now?” she laughs even as her belly performs an odd sort of backflip.

“Happily so, milady.”

His tone may be light and playful, but she can tell he means it.

And she’s lost for words.

“Then again, you also tried to outrun a storm,” she quips at last.

She may joke about his judgement, but in fairness, he makes a good point. Robin Hood has already been declared the queen’s enemy—Regina’d be putting him at less of an extra risk than she would an ordinary citizen. Rationally, it makes sense.

Then why does the thought of his company, friendship even, make her more nervous instead of less?

Everyone leaves in the end. Why set herself up for heartbreak?

_Coward._

If she were honest with herself, she’d admit it—her motivation isn’t entirely selfless. Her self-imposed isolation is meant to shield her, too. It does do that...but all things come with a price.

“Thank you,” he tells her, covering her hand with his where it rests idle on his knee, his thumb brushing over her knuckles before he lets go.

Regina swallows and snatches her hand away like one burned—she hadn’t even realised she was touching him with such familiarity, much less expected the sweet, intimate gesture from him. Her belly flutters, and that definitely isn’t helping. She looks around frantically for some mundane reprieve, grabs her unfinished tea and downs its contents.

“And thank you,” she says, handing him back the cup—a cowardly excuse to thank him for much more, but he’ll understand.

And why stop there? She’s leaving the kingdom soon, leaving no one and, therefore, everyone behind—what’s the harm in trusting him with this, too? She’s never spoken of it to anyone before, and it’s been weighing on her, crushing her. Perhaps a willing ear...or a different perspective...she’s not sure what she expects, but for once, just once, it would be nice to have someone to confide in, even just for a moment, even with just this one thing.

They may not have met before, but the messages they’ve traded mean something, enough that he feels like...well, if not quite a friend, then at least far from a stranger.

And—her heart quickens—when he held her in his arms to share warmth, for a brief moment she felt so utterly, so terrifyingly safe.

“We used to be friends, Snow White and I,” she says quietly. Even the blanket and cape she pulls all the way up to her neck can’t chase the heartache away. “Before I made a horrible mistake that cost her dearly. She hasn’t forgiven me since. I suppose I should just accept she never will.”

Robin hums and nods, lets the silence stretch before he speaks.

“But you’re still hoping she might.”

She wants to deny it, but what’s the point? Obviously she hasn’t been able to give up on Snow, no matter how high the prize on Regina’s head or how many times she’s escaped death at the queen’s hands. It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?

It’s too late for them anyway.

“Well, if she ever does, I won’t know.”

“How’s that?”

“The forest isn’t the place for me anymore.”

Now Robin takes undue interest in his tea.

“Well...that’s a shame. Where will you go?”

She shrugs.

“Just...away. If I ever manage to rob enough to buy passage, of course.” And then? She has no plan from there. Freedom first—the rest remains to be seen.

“I see.”

Robin becomes oddly quiet after that, pensive even. His jaw is set, and she’d almost think him angry if it weren’t for his eyes. They’re kind eyes. Blue. Distant now.

Is he—disappointed? Why? Because she’s fleeing?

“I’m not running,” she explains, though why she feels the urge to do so she’s not sure, “just—”

Looking for a home. Her cheeks burn as the truth hits her; her eyes burn worse. Snow’s the closest to family Regina’s had for most of her adult life—and now she’s lost to her forever. Perhaps not being in constant mortal peril will bring Regina peace of mind. Perhaps some physical distance will help. The twin ghosts of guilt and grief have haunted her far too long.

She’s just so exhausted.

“Don’t you ever grow tired of this endless charade?”

Robin’s vacant expression changes as she speaks, and he even musters a smile—she’s probably only imagining the dejected droop at its corners.

“By charade, you mean life outside the law, yeah? There was a time when I considered getting out of this game myself.”

“What happened?”

“I fell in love—or so I believed. Turned out she was not who I thought her to be.” A hint of mischief returns to his eyes. “You’ve had the misfortune of meeting her briefly, actually. At the Yule Ball two winters ago.”

The Yule Ball. One of her most elaborate heists, if not the most elaborate. One of her greatest failures, too.

“There were a lot of people there, none of which I spoke to.”

“Perhaps, but you can’t have missed her. As a matter of fact,” he smiles wryly and rubs his nape, “she was the talk of town for quite a while.”

That cannot be.

“The redhead with the bad attitude?” she stares, her horror all too clear.

Thankfully, Robin is far from offended, though he seems to blush under the stubble.

Oh, Regina remembers her well. The woman in question stirred such an uproar she had to be physically removed by the guards. They shut the whole event down shortly after, sent all the distinguished guests on their way before the queen ever made an appearance at all. Regina, in her noble disguise, was happy to have escaped with her life.

“I’m afraid so,” Robin confirms with a grimace.

“That scene and what followed cost me my prize that night. I thought it was a diversion. That you’d planned it together.”

He shakes his head, his smile lopsided.

“I improvised heavily.”

“That was some quick thinking for someone whose heart had just been broken,” she retorts. It’s supposed to be a light tease, but that’s not how it comes out at all. Where did this dark, oily, swirling feeling in her belly come from?

Robin’s face falls.

“We do what we must, yeah?” he says sheepishly. “We weren’t right for each other at all. I’m glad I saw it sooner rather than later.”

Then he fixes her with a peculiar look.

“I must’ve seen you that night. What an odd twist of fate that we should have missed each other so many times.”

“Well, technically, you did bump into me. At the Yule Ball two years ago,” she adds in response to his puzzled expression.

His eyes go wide.

“So it _was_ you.”

“Please,” Regina raises an eyebrow at him because, honestly, there’s no reason to coddle her. He’d just had a fight with his redhead... _friend_...when he collided with Regina after she’d hidden between the hedges to avoid the fuming woman. They never even looked at one another. “No need to pretend you remember. You were otherwise occupied.”

But Robin bites down on that maddeningly smug smirk of his.

“Red dress. Black coat. You shivered when I brushed past in the royal gardens.”

Wha—he really remembered her?

“It was a cold night,” she blurts out, heat rising in her cheeks. So what if she did feel a jolt of—something. She couldn’t afford to pay it any mind then, and it sure wasn’t a better time now. “And you didn’t _brush past_ —you walked right into me.”

“I never saw your face.”

“Except gracing wanted posters, you mean.”

Banter is safe territory. It’s what they know. It’s what they do.

“Ah, but those never do one justice,” he says, rather pointedly.

Is he—flirting? Or simply being his usual smug self? Why are his dimples so distracting?

She’s not his type.

Even if she were, she’s leaving soon, isn’t she?

She has nothing and no one keeping her here.

Her stomach chooses that moment to rumble crudely, and of course Robin can’t let that one pass without comment.

“Hungry, milady?” he teases, glancing to his pile of possessions across from the fire.

“Just didn’t think this Christmas Eve food would be more scarce than even the Lean Year.”

“Ah, yes. Quite the feast last year, thanks to a large part to your generous contribution.”

“And yours,” she rolls her eyes. “I must say, I was pleasantly surprised my snares had gone undisturbed.”

Last year was so bad even snow was scarce. Regina and the Merry Men would cross each other hunting for game that was next to impossible to find, foraging for plants and herbs that seemed to have disappeared—and instead of ruthless competition, the hard times brewed solidarity instead. Not pity, but compassion at a time that had no winner, only struggle.

“Your opinion of me was really that low, wasn’t it?” Robin wonders.

“Well, we’ve always competed. Last year was rough. You had many mouths to feed.”

“Not with the fruit of your hard work. Which you chose to share.”

“To be fair, the herbs and mead you left at my door may have somewhat improved my dinner. And I _was_ only trying to even the score.”

Except Robin ruined that plan when, even in the misery of the Lean Year, he’d gone to the trouble of leaving her a trinket, just like that first time the Christmas before. And she’d thought she’d surprise him that year, leave him a present for a change, and be done with it. She never intended for it to become a tradition between them.

And yet, on the rough-hewn table in her little hollow lies a package and a note waiting to be delivered to the man with whom she’s currently having an unexpected fireside chat.

“Right,” he smirks. “I remember the note. I have tried very hard to heed your kind advice to—what was it again? _Not let it go to my head_?”

“That’s what you get for your cheek wishing me _better luck next time_.”

“Still holding a grudge over that, are we? I’ll have you know I was being perfectly sincere.”

Her stomach makes that awful sound again, louder than before.

Regina shrugs it off.

“After the Lean Year, what’s one night without food?”

“A nuisance,” he replies, standing. “One we need not endure.”

Something about his manner throws her. There’s the smug smirk all right—that’s very him. He’s like the cat that got the cream when he starts unpacking the contents of his satchel. Out come a loaf of bread, a leg of lamb, roast potatoes, mince pies and oranges—and he’s not even done yet. Yet the way he keeps glancing her way seems uncharacteristically skittish.

Regina stares, taking in the blanket strewn on the ground and its plethora of delicacies. Robin lights candles, pours wine into the cups emptied of tea, and fumbles with his satchel for something else. Even if she tried to seem unimpressed just to wipe that smirk off his face, she can’t contain herself any longer.

“How is it you have an entire feast on you? Are the Merry Men skipping dinner tonight, with you stranded here?”

“They’d been well provided for before I left camp, I assure you,” he chuckles. “This was meant for someone else.

Then there must be a family going hungry somewhere—he is, after all, famous not only for stealing from the rich but, more importantly, for giving to the poor.

“Most of this should keep until the storm blows over,” she ponders out loud. They can eat some of it, just enough not to starve, and set the rest aside for those in need. “Whoever it was intended for can still enjoy it then.”

“I certainly hope so. It was meant to be a surprise, you know.” Robin’s hand flies to his nape—a nervous habit of his, it seems. “I wasn’t quite sure how it would be received.”

“Come on,” she scoffs, because really? “How could this be ill received?”

“You see, the person in question is—well, she’s rather special.”

A woman.

Of course... The candles, the wine, the bright wildflowers peeking from his satchel—they aren’t strictly items of necessity. It seems Robin Hood is a romantic, and the blizzard stands between him and his...beloved.

Regina swallows. Her limbs are heavy again and her stomach oddly twisting. She pulls the blanket more tightly around her.

_Stupid hypothermia._

Is she worried, this woman Robin Hood had prepared a romantic dinner for? Had they arranged to meet? Or was that, too, part of the surprise?

“Regina, I…” Robin takes a deep breath and lets out a frustrated exhale. “This isn’t at all how I wanted this to go.”

“That much is clear,” she laughs darkly. “I know I’m no match for the company you’d hoped for tonight.”

Robin clears his throat, licks his lips.

“As a matter of fact, yours is exactly the company I’d hoped for.”

“Please,” she huffs, glaring. “We both know that’s not true. Be honest—we play tricks on each other, but it’s always been a fair competition, right? Well, aside from your obvious advantage in numbers,” she teases, but it falls flat because her heart’s not really in it. “Let’s stick to that, shall we?”

“Regina,” he sighs.

He seems nervous and frustrated when he reaches for his satchel, hissing in pain as he rises again with the winter bouquet of red campions, primroses, and holly. They’re sparse this year and must have taken a while to collect. Will his paramour even know to appreciate the effort that’s gone into it?

Her hand settles on her stomach—there’s that unpleasant sinking sensation again.

_Stupid Regina._

Robin bites his lip and steps to her.

“Our friendly rivalry has been refreshing, and our notes have become quite the bright spot for me. You ask for honesty, and the truth is this: I had very much hoped to finally meet you this Christmas Eve. This,” he gestures at the feast laid out before them, “was meant to be my gift to you this year. I was hoping perhaps you’d be partial to enjoying it with me. Of course, in my version of the events, you’d have had an actual choice as to my company.”

She hears him say the words, but they seem to come from a great distance, drowned out by the hammering of her heart.

“You—you’ve planned all this—for me?”

“You can say no,” he returns quickly. “Even though we’re stranded here, you’ve the choice. Say the word and I won’t mention it again. Your friendship would be enough.”

_...but you want more?_

She dares not speak her thoughts though—what if she’s wrong? What if she misunderstands, and this isn’t a romantic proposition at all? After all, Regina is not the kind of person who gets a happy ending—she doesn’t get love, or family, or...anything other than her lonesome existence. It’s all she’s ever known. It’s safe, and that should be enough.

It is not.

Robin’s shoulders fall, and he gives her a sad little nod. It must have been a while since he spoke, and she’s still sitting there, utterly dumbstruck.

“Right...Well, I shouldn’t have presumed… Apologies for making you uncomfortable. I hope I haven’t cocked it all up and we can still salvage our friendship? With time, perhaps?”

She doesn’t need time.

_I know what my heart says._

But speaking it, out loud, to the very man setting said heart aflutter, is another matter entirely.

Regina’s never been good with words.

Life has taught her that actions speak louder than words anyway.

Even the two of them, even before they met, are proof of that. Perhaps the way they look out for each other has long been more than charity, common courtesy, or even kinship in the face of a common enemy; more than solidarity or even friendship. Perhaps she hasn’t been reading too much into the small things after all—the way his notes have grown warmer, or how he would address them to “ _dear_ Regina _”_ and sign “ _yours,_ Robin” _._ Perhaps their banter has more than toed the line between playfulness and flirtation.

_I know what my heart says...but what if his doesn’t say the same thing?_

She stares from his face to the bouquet in his hands, and—

“What’s that?”

“Oh...this? Mere sentimental token of a fond memory. Let me just—” Robin fumbles to untangle the shiny object from the flower composition, his famed nimble fingers failing him for once.

“A coin?” she squints.

“You left it with your first note,” he says, turning it over now that it’s been freed. “You probably don’t even remember—you’d beaten me to my own fake execution and stole blind the bastards who’d gathered to celebrate my untimely demise. This is all you left behind, as a—”

“ _—consolation prize_ ,” she finishes. Of course she remembers. Of course

And he’s kept it all this time?

Regina is a firm believer that actions speak louder than words—and how much louder must his shout for her to listen?

She stands up so resolutely both cape and blanket puddle on the ground, but she neither cares nor needs them—heat rises in her cheeks and belly as she grabs Robin by the shirt and, mindful of his leg injury, leans in to press her lips to his.

The kiss burns hot, zings with something indescribable, and they jump apart, stunned, to gaze into each other’s eyes. A feeling of rightness springs deep in Regina’s soul, and she reads it mirrored in Robin’s look even as he leans forward, cradling her face, and touches his forehead to hers in a gesture so gentle she could cry.

“Does this mean I may escort you to the dinner table, m’lady?” he whispers with a wide, goofy grin.

“You may,” she giggles—actually giggles, and it feels wonderful, and liberating, and _fuck fear_.

They’ve gone a long way from competition to friendly rivalry. They’ve matched wits, celebrated victories, and counted their losses. They’ve grown into tentative allies who secretly—or not-so-secretly—cared for each other, and pined for each other, from afar.

And now, stranded in a dank cave and not minding one bit this chance to remain wrapped up entirely in one another?

Well, now it seems they both win.


End file.
